I mean, let’s be real for a moment. I hold standards for any guy I will ever date, and some of those things can be superficial. My type and feelings set aside, any guy a woman can expect to be serious should meet two out of three criteria:

Car, work, school.

I mean, they’re not so high of standards that makes a woman look nit-picky, but they’re high enough to prove a guy who can take care of himself.

Simply because I hold a guy to that standard doesn’t mean I don’t hold it to myself. I work a job to pay for a car that I use to commute to school, so if I’m going to judge a guy to only two of those three standards, no one can tell me it’s too high when I meet all three myself.

But that’s just me.

What’s not right?

That I refuse to participate in an event simply because it’s the “right thing to do”?

So I’m a bad child because I refuse to give my mother something for mother’s day.

You know what’s not right?

The fact that I had to build myself up from the bottom without a mother figure to support me, that I relied on the opinions of men to define me my whole life.

What’s not right is my mother being absent for 23 hours and 50 minutes out of 24 hours of my birth date.

It’s not right that my mother doesn’t know who my friends are, doesn’t ask what I do, and doesn’t even concern herself with my matters.

What’s not right is that my mother thinks that she can buy me with money, rather than with love.

What’s not right is the fact that my mother, in papers, lives with me and we see each other for barely 30 minutes in a WEEK, that when people ask me about my mother, it’s not a lie when I reply, “I don’t talk to her”, not because we have issues, but because she simply does not care enough to be present in my life.

So don’t you fucking tell me what’s right and what’s wrong.

As soon as our words became serious, I became scared. Simply because if I begin to trust you, I’ll grow attached, and then I’ll lose you.

My missing piece never stays found.

I’ve been broken and scarred enough.
I’m not serious about romance and crushes and love.
And when I step back, I’m still suffering in the end.
I have to suffer by watching the heartbreak of my friends.
And I’ll be true, I’ve been scared to confide it to men.
Somehow, you eased me to put down my defense.
You make me feel like after all these men my friends and I have faced, that there are men with good hearts— it’s true.
So I pray that you don’t have to go through another heartbreak, too.
And maybe, someday, I’ll meet a man as good as you.

Life tends to fall apart like that.
One moment
Things are fine, and life just proves that “things get better”
And the next
Everything starts to go wrong and you’re not sure where to fall back on
Then I start to wonder,
Do things get better
or
Do they get worse?
Then I realize that life is an endless cycle of good
Then bad
Good
Bad…
But why is it that happiness seems temporary
And sadness seems to be the overwhelming feeling?
Why is it that I force myself to smile and tears are held back
Rather than the other way around?
Why is sadness my disease,
Happiness my medicine;
Instead being diagnosed with happiness,
We are diagnosed with depression.
Why does life seem to fall apart rather than come together?